


Dream a Little Dream of Me pt 2

by HardiganCaptain



Series: Collab with Incepship [1]
Category: Warrior (2011)
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:29:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardiganCaptain/pseuds/HardiganCaptain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Incepship and I are going back and forth on Chapters<br/>So if you haven't read hers go and read that first, yeah?</p><p>Link for part one: <a href="http://incepship.tumblr.com/post/47383161271/incepship-may-need-a-trigger-warning-starts-off">Chapter One</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream a Little Dream of Me pt 2

**Author's Note:**

About me? Must have been pretty dull, then.” the cheerfulness in your voice sounds fake even to your ears but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Nah, it was,” he pauses, his gaze flicking towards his hands that lay threaded together on the table, a slow smile that you’ve never seen curling his lips.  ”It was different…”

Glancing over your shoulder, you notice that he’s looking at you but not really. It’s like he’s seeing something else and you can’t help but wonder if maybe he’d woken up in the middle of the night for a bit more to drink. Shaking your head you clear away the thought, it doesn’t bear agonizing over.

“Got a craving, or…?”

“Anything would be good, my mouth tastes like old leather.” even though the words sound right his tone leaves you feeling a bit off kilter.

Throwing bread into the toaster you pull eggs from the fridge and crack them open over a bowl before adding a bit of milk. Scrambled eggs and toast, quickest easiest thing you can think of off the top of your head, but he looks down at the plate and smiles like it’s not something just hashed together in a rush.

The kitchen is silent except for the clink of his fork hitting the plate, his eyes occasionally lifting to stare at you as he chews slowly, nibbling on his toast. You’ve never seen him like this the morning after, as a matter of fact it’s rare he lets himself get that blitzed anywhere near you. You’d half expected him to be gone, just vanished, leaving behind the imprint of where his massive body had curled to fit on your couch. Your mouth opens and then closes again, sometimes he didn’t mind idle chatter but most times he considered it a nuisance.

“How’re you’re wrists?” 

“Fine?” the one word is heavy with query, of all the things you’d been expecting that hadn’t been it. But he doesn’t say anything else, instead turning his attention back to the plate in front of him until it’s empty.

Taking his plate, you pause meeting his eyes which feel as though they’ve never left you, not since he followed you into the kitchen.You could understand if it was a sullen look, he’d said things last night that you knew he’d probably regret in the morning. Maybe even a scowl etched on his lips, darkening his eyes as he avoided yours, but it’s nothing like that at all. If you didn’t know him as well as you did you’d say it was something like hope. Hope wasn’t something Tommy put much stock in, faith, trust, love, any of those were carefully avoided as though to give them merit was to court death itself. But the way he’s looking at you right now, the hard line of his mouth soft, those moss coloured eyes half lidded and slightly bloodshot, is making your stomach do odd little flips.

Plate rinsed you’re at a loss as to what you’re supposed to do now. He doesn’t have clothes at your apartment, had put his foot down against that much intimacy between the two of you, so offering your shower is out of the question. A ride home maybe? He was always so careful not to have his car anywhere near him when he started drinking, walking to save both himself and some innocent bystander the heartache of a possible accident. But you don’t really want him to go, not when he’s so… soft. That’s what it is, something about him, that rough edge that both thrills you and makes you wish you could hold him until it faded, is missing and you don’t know why.

“You’re real good to me, y’know that?”

It doesn’t take five minutes to dry your hands but you’re still rubbing the towel over them, stalling until you can figure out something to say. Turning, leaning back against the edge of the sink, you can’t help the smile that curls your mouth. It’s a bit sheepish around the edges like you’ve been caught doing something that you didn’t think anyone would notice. And to be honest? You didn’t think he did. 

“I mean it,” the scraping of the chair echoes through the kitchen as he stands, moving to stand in front of you, but that’s all. His hands move but hesitate like he’s not sure what to do with them, his eyes intent on yours before moving to stare lower. “You put up with a lot of my shit, y’know? You don’t have to but you do it anyways.”

“I don’t have to, I want to.” the words fall from your lips before you have a chance to stop them, his eyes flying up to meet yours and crinkling around the edges as a hint of a smile lilts his lips.

“That’s what I mean! You want to be around me even though I’m damaged goods, even though I’m so twisted up inside even I don’t want to be around me. But you do. Why?”

“What?” That one word has so many different meanings it makes your head hurt. What is that supposed to mean? What are you talking about? What was in that bottle? What idiot wouldn’t? What the hell is going on?

“I’m a mess, I carry around so much anger and resentment and I’m just pissed all the time but you, you just don’t care about that. Why?” his hands settle on the sinks edge, his body leaning into yours and suddenly you’re having a hard time breathing.

“Because it doesn’t matter that you think you’re a mess Tommy, it doesn’t matter that your childhood was shit and you think it defines you because it doesn’t. I know that all that swaggering around, all that scowling, all that anger is just you trying to defend yourself against getting hurt again. Don’t you think that there’s one person who’s willing to shovel through all that emotional shit and still want to be around you? Need to be around you?” your mouth snaps shut, your breath coming in soft pants.

You don’t remember moving, cupping his jaw in your hands during your tirade, but your thumbs are brushing over the stubble that’s covering his cheeks. Pressing a kiss to his lips you’re surprised by how tightly his arms wrap around you, the action squeezing the air from your lungs. What was meant to be a chaste gesture of affection becoming something else, something hungry and almost desperate before he pulls back, that small smile still playing on his lips but it may as well be a grin.

“What’s going on, Tommy? I don’t understand.” 


End file.
